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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774838">Nightmares</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail'>ShatteredSwallowtail</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taming Dragons [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dragon Dad, Estinien needs a hug, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:20:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taming Dragons [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nightmares</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had known something was wrong even before the messenger came from Ishgard. Known it in the cold vice like grip that had suddenly clenched around his heart as he channeled his focus into the next strike against the training dummy. Something was wrong, something was wrong with <i>Aymeric</i>, and he’d been so focused on simply <i>getting to Ishgard</i> that he’d swept right past the Haillenarte steward attempting to gain his attention. It was to the boy’s credit that he’d had the good sense not to grab for the dragoon’s arm as he rushed past. That it was Francel who had ended up pinned to the wall by his throat when Estinien reacted without thinking, before releasing his grip when he realized who had accosted him thusly. The younger man took a moment to catch his breath, coughing as he rubbed at the spot where gauntletted fingers had been tight around his throat and the look on his face when he met Estinien’s gaze brought all of his nightmares to the forefront.</p><p>It was a superhuman effort to force back the small, scared voice inside of him that rose up in desperate denial, to keep the whimper from his voice as he barked out a single demanded plea to Francel. “Tell me….” He almost kissed the blonde when his first words were ‘he lives’, and the taught thread of tension snapped within him. Shoulders sagging, he nodded before gripping Francel’s shoulder and steering the young nobleman along with him. “Tell me what happened. Leave nothing out.” As much as he didn’t want to hear whatever had transpired...he <i>needed</i> to hear it. And not merely because he felt guilty over their last parting.</p><p>If he was truthful, he had panicked when he’d overheard his husband speaking to the little Xaela child that he had somehow acquired from gods-knew-where, telling the little girl that he would buy her a sweet roll and take her to visit dragons. How was he to have known that Aymeric was only trying to reassure her that a place in one of Francel’s newest orphanages wouldn’t be as frightening or lonely as it might outwardly seem? His husband’s words had seemed far more fatherly than that, and he had reacted without thought, snapping out in Draconic that his husband was being an idealistic fool because neither of them were in any position to care for a child. He was like the wind, never settling in one place long, and his husband spent most of the days’ hours in his office. They had not the means to care for a child, especially one so young. And that if Aymeric wished to consign the girl to a life of loneliness then he wanted no part in it. He had realized his mistake after his husband had stiffened and gently reassured the child that Francel was a kind man and that he himself would visit her and see that she was happy, and though he had apologized for his words there had still been tension between them when Aymeric had departed to return to Ishgard. </p><p>And now this. The damned child again, as he listened to Francel explain what had transpired. How the girl - Yasha, he thought that was her name - had settled in for the most part, though the other children were wary of her and her Draconic Xaela features. She’d been quiet and withdrawn, often clinging to the stuffed white dragon that Aymeric had bought her to remind her of the dragonets she had played with and curling into a corner with a picture book or venturing out into the garden behind the orphanage to enjoy the small patches of green that were so rare in Ishgard. Probably homesick, he reasoned, natural when one considered she came from a place of rolling plains and hills. She’d been in the garden again, when another child had stolen the stuffed dragon and torn one of its wings from it’s plush body. An act of cruelty such that children sadly were known for, and doubtless spawned out of resentment for the dragons who had orphaned so many of them during the war. But cruel nonetheless, and the altercation between the children had drawn the attention of one of the keepers of the orphanage. Attempting to sort it out and extract an apology from the other child until the situation had escalated impossibly, with angered adults demanding that a ‘half dragon brat’ had no place near the other children as the keeper tried in vain to defuse the situation.</p><p>Estinien hadn’t needed Francel to explain what had happened next. He could already guess, knowing his husband. Aymeric had never been the sort to stand idly by in the face of wrongdoing or injustice and he felt certain that the Lord Commander had stepped in to try and mediate the quarrel. But something had gone wrong, tensions pushed too high, and he’d received a knife to the back when he’d gotten between the frantic keeper and one of the enraged citizens. The fact that the man had been horrified that he’d stabbed the commander of the temple knights hardly mattered; he’d be in pieces by the time Estinien finished with him.The fury bled away to a sick feeling in his stomach as Francel outlined the severity of Aymeric’s injury. The knife had punctured a lung and nicked his heart and only the blade itself serving as a dam had kept him from bleeding out before a healer could reach him. As it was, he would be bedridden for days though he would heal with time so long as he avoided infection.</p><p>He didn’t want to hear any more, and he’d tuned Francel’s voice out by the time they reached the infirmary and he strode through the door. Ignoring everything else as he grabbed one of the chirurgeons by the front of their shirt and hauled them up to growl a single word into their face. “Where?” To his own merit, the man went white as a sheet and stammered out an answer as he pointed with a shaking hand towards one of the doors along the hallway. Dropping the man back onto his feet, the dragoon headed straight for the indicated door, ripping off his helm as he pushed the door open and shut it behind him. Safely away from prying eyes, he let the familiar metal drop to the ground with a hollow thud as he swallowed hard and took the few steps over to the bed. Aymeric’s armour and clothes were folded neatly atop a trunk at the end of the small bed and if not for the pallor of his complexion and the darkness in the hollows beneath his eyes, Estinien could have thought him sleeping normally. But the shallowness of his breathing and the thick bandages wrapped around his chest were a glaring reminder of how close he had come to losing his husband.</p><p>Armoured knees hit the floor as he sank down beside his husband and stripped off his gauntlets to reach for one of the unconscious man’s hands in his own shaking ones. Pressing desperate kisses to knuckles, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against that still hand, the tears finally coming with a broken whimper. “Don’t you dare leave me, Aymeric... I’ll never forgive you…” So long as his husband woke up and recovered from this, he’d do whatever it took. He didn’t care what was asked of him. He’d stop his wandering, he’d adopt the entire damned orphanage if that’s what Aymeric wanted, he’d sell his soul to the void so long as those blue eyes would just open and look at him again. So long as Aymeric would be alright. He said as much, on his knees beside the bed, whispered pleas that he hoped his unconscious husband would hear even as his cynical side reasoned that Aymeric was out cold and therefore likely couldn’t hear <i>anything</i>.</p><p>What he didn’t expect to feel was the hesitant touch of small fingers as one of them carefully caught a tear as it slid down his cheek. Glowing eyes snapped open and he froze as they stared into a different pair of blue eyes than the ones he had been desperately hoping to see. Somehow he’d not even seen her, curled up against Aymeric’s other side like that damned cat that hated everyone except his master and especially Estinien. Her little face was blotched from tears as she sniffled and clutched the torn stuffed dragon in one arm, her other hand outstretched towards his own face to wipe away the tears. How the hell the Xaela child had gotten into the room baffled him until he faintly recalled Francel mentioning that she’d refused to leave Aymeric’s side. Which meant that now he was stuck in this most vulnerable of moments...with a toddler he dearly wanted to blame for it all...yet couldn’t. For all his ire and fear, it wasn’t the child’s fault. She hadn’t asked to be born, hadn’t asked to be carted off to Ishgard where everyone viewed her as strange and abnormal. And it hadn’t been her fault that angry fools had chosen to try and solve their differences with steel instead of words.</p><p>And so he forced himself to remain still as she carefully wiped at the tears he hated anyone to see, before her questing fingers settled on the black scales along his jawline. Of course, she would be curious and he was about to try and figure out something to say to her when she whispered a single word in a soft whimper. “Papa…” </p><p>Momentary panic gave way to the realization that with his horns and scales she must think <i>him</i> Xaela like her. Like the father she had obviously lost at some point in her past, and he took a deep breath to calm his racing heart as he shook his head. “No, little one. I’m not your papa. But I remind you of him, I suppose.” Her position beside Aymeric was causing him no small amount of worry considering how likely it was that she might jostle his husband and reopen the wound and after some internal debating Estinien stood up and gingerly reached over Aymeric’s slumbering form to scoop her up and settle her somewhat awkwardly onto his lap. Drawing on faint memories of what seemed like another lifetime ago when his little brother had been small as she was now to shift her weight enough to support her as she curled up against his chest without a word of protest. Now what did he do? Crimson gaze scanning the room for something, anything to give him some idea, his eyes settled on the torn wing of the toy that she clutched close to her. Reaching up to finger the dangling appendage, he watched as she pulled it away from him and tightened her grip on it. Protecting it, even from him, and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that rose up in his throat. “I mean your dragon no harm. If you persist in squeezing it in such a way, the wing is likely to fall off entirely.”</p><p>His inability to relate to children became even more obvious as her eyes welled up with tears and he felt himself begin to panic again. Now he’d made her cry again and this was exactly why he’d told Aymeric that neither of them were suited to raise a child, least of all him. But instead of the whimpers or sobs that he’d expected, the white toy was thrust upwards into his face as she stuck out her lower lip in a pout that was worthy of Aymeric at his most stubborn.<br/>“Fix him.”</p><p>It wasn’t even a request, more demand than plea and the child and the dragoon engaged in a stare down for a long moment as he debated whether to give in to her rather imperious command or not. Pride would dictate that he took orders from no one, especially not from a girl barely as tall as his kneecaps, but there was something endearing in the determined glint in her blue eyes and the way dark curls tumbled over her forehead. Something so… <i>Aymeric</i> in a way, and rather than sarcastically denying her, he found himself heaving a sigh as he hefted her into one arm and stood up to rummage through the cupboards for a needle and thread. “Very well, I will fix your dragon for you. <i>If</i> you stay out of the bed and don’t disturb Aymeric. He needs his rest.”</p><p>Honestly, he hadn’t expected her to understand - or listen, for that matter - but she turned to look at Aymeric for a moment before nodding solemnly in reply. Having located the needle and thread, he tugged over a nearby chair and settled into it as Yasha resumed her place on his lap. Small head against his chest as he went to work sewing up the toy for her. The silence might have seemed suffocating, but there was something almost...comforting about her small weight on his lap and the soft sounds of her breathing and when he glanced down as he put the last few stitches in Estinien saw that she had drifted off to sleep. She looked so innocent like that, and he allowed himself a small smile and a sigh of envy at how easily children could breeze through things before a soft whimper drew his attention to the bed. Watching as his husband’s eyelashes fluttered slightly before his eyes opened.</p><p>Estinien set down the stuffed toy and reached to grip Aymeric’s fingers again with a tight squeeze as he felt relief wash through him. Emotion clogging his throat as he swallowed past a lump and raised those fingers to gently kiss each knuckle. “Aymeric... I feared I had lost you, beloved… don’t frighten me like that again…” His own name was whispered in response as the barely conscious man flashed him a weak smile. “Won’t...lose me… promise.” Closing his eyes again, he sighed as his fingers curled around Estinien’s. “Yasha…?”</p><p>“She’s fine.” He replied softly as he returned the squeeze of fingers. Of course Aymeric would be worried about the child, and despite his misgivings he was resolved at that moment to take responsibility to see she remained that way. If only because of how important it obviously was to his husband. “Fell asleep after demanding that I fix her dragon. She’s very stubborn, it seems. Like someone else I know. No wonder you’re fond of her.” His tone gentled even more as he pressed another soft kiss to knuckles. “Rest, Aymeric… I will look after her while you recover. Just rest and heal. We will both be here.”</p>
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